Page 7 of One Hundred Humbugs

“Huh,” Ruby said. “Not even a local agency. I guess beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to unloading houses full of junk.”

Ruby hesitated, her hand hovering over her cell phone. This was it—the moment of truth. One call, and she’d set in motion the process of selling Uncle Peter’s house. Of erasing this small piece of him from the world.

But as her eyes drifted over the piles of memories surrounding her, a twinge of ... something tugged at Ruby. Curiosity? Responsibility? Or maybe just the nagging feeling that there was more to this inheritance than met the eye.

“Oh, what the hell,” she muttered, setting her phone down without dialing. “One night won’t hurt. I can always call Marge in the morning.”

As if in agreement, a stack of books chose that moment to lose its battle with gravity, toppling to the floor with a resounding crash. Ruby jumped, then burst out laughing.

“Alright, Uncle Peter,” she said to the cluttered room. “I hear you. Let’s see what kind of adventure you’ve left for me.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Becket Shepherd steered his truck onto the overgrown driveway of the old Wilson place, his heart pounding with hope and anxiety. The property Marge Gunderson had offered for his goat landscaping trial was just the lifeline he and his herd needed. Now, if the universe would cooperate for once.

Becket glanced in the rearview mirror. “Hang in there, Daisy. We’ve got a couple weeks to go yet. Try not to pop that kid out before Christmas, okay?”

He pulled to a stop and climbed out of the cab, wincing as his boots sank into the unexpectedly soft ground. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the overgrown but oddly green field—a striking oasis in the otherwise parched landscape. “Well, gang,” he muttered, eyeing the wild tangle of weeds and grass that thrived against all odds, “looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

Becket had just started to lower the trailer ramp when the wail of a police siren cut through the air. He froze, one hand on the trailer latch, the other instinctively reaching to smooth down his unruly hair. “Ah, hell,” he muttered,watching a Silver Springs Police cruiser pull up behind his truck. “Just what we need. A welcoming committee.”

As the car door opened, Becket straightened up, trying his best to look like a respectable businessman and not a vagrant goatherder. It wasn’t easy, given the circumstances.

“Evening, officer,” Becket called out, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “Lovely evening for a bit of ... goat herding, wouldn’t you say?”

The officer approached, hand resting casually on his belt. “This is private property, sir. Would you care to explain what is going on here?”

Becket’s mind raced. How could he possibly explain this situation without sounding insane? “Well, you see, it’s a funny story...”

He launched into an explanation about his meeting with Marge, the landscaping idea, and his hopes to keep things going until at least Christmas. “You see, officer, Daisy there—” he pointed to the pregnant goat, who chose that moment to let out a loud, accusatory bleat, “—she’s due to kid around Christmas. I’m just trying to find a way to keep us all going until then. Marge Gunderson gave me permission to use this property as a trial run.”

The officer’s eyebrows shot up. “Marge Gunderson? The realtor?” His tone was skeptical, bordering on dismissive.

“That’s right.” Becket nodded, hope rising in his chest. “You can call her to verify. She should still be in her office at this hour.”

The officer’s face hardened. “Sir, I’m going to need you to step away from the trailer. Do you have any documentation to prove this arrangement?”

Becket’s heart sank. “Well, no, not exactly. It was more of a verbal agreement, you see...”

“A verbal agreement,” the officer repeated flatly. “To bring a herd of goats onto private property at dusk.”

“When you put it like that, it does sound a bit crazy,” Becket admitted, his voice strained. “But I swear, I’m telling the truth. These goats, they’re all I’ve got left. I’m just trying to make a fresh start here.”

The officer sighed, torn between skepticism and a hint of sympathy. “Mr...?”

“Shepherd. Becket Shepherd.”

“Of course it is,” the officer muttered. “Mr. Shepherd, I can’t allow you to stay here without verifying your story. I’m going to have to ask you to pack up and move along.”

Panic rose in Becket’s chest. “But officer, please. I’ve got nowhere else to go. These goats need to eat, and Daisy’s due soon. Can’t you just ... I don’t know, give me a chance to sort this out with Marge?”

The officer studied him for a long moment, then glanced at the herd of goats, some of whom were already eyeing the overgrown grass eagerly. He shook his head. “Alright. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call Ms. Gunderson right now to verify your story. If she backs you up, you can stay. If not, you and your ... landscaping crew will need to move on immediately. Understood?”

Relief flooded through Becket. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I promise, everything will check out.”

The officer stepped away to make the call, leaving Becket to wait anxiously. After what seemed like an eternity, he returned.

“Well, it seems Ms. Gunderson does indeed recall your ... unusual arrangement. You’re free to stay for now, but consider yourself on notice. Any complaints from the neighbors and you’re out. Clear?”

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